


Little Lion Man

by leontina (Leontina)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Forced Marriage, Gang Rape, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Punishment, Rape, Rape Recovery, Secret Relationship, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 20:56:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14626878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leontina/pseuds/leontina
Summary: Voldemort discovered Harry was hunting his Horcruxes so he hid them away and the war dragged on. After years of death and destruction, Voldemort finally offers an ultimatum--he will stop the killing, but in return Harry must marry him. Unable to bear any more deaths because of him, Harry agrees, and falls into an abusive marriage which nobody can save him from. Or so he thinks, until he meets Draco Malfoy once more





	Little Lion Man

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for the Horror Fest but I couldn't complete it on time so I've decided to make it a multi-chaptered WIP :) Thank you to Melusina for the beta-ing and support ♥
> 
> This fic is going to get very Dark, but there will be a happy (ish) ending, and Harry/Draco will be the end-game (and entirely consensual). But Voldemort gets to have his fun first xD

**_XXX_ **

Harry threw himself to the ground, knees sliding across the hard gravel. The jet of bright blue light flashed over the top of his head, close enough that he smelt burning hair. He shot back a Stunning Spell at his attacker, then ran to the next opponent before the man even hit the floor. 

A flash of red robes caught Harry’s eye, the Auror working alongside Kingsley Shacklebolt to bring down a particularly crazed Death Eater. 

The smell of scorched brick and grass was becoming almost overwhelming, but the Muggles had been evacuated from the burning town, and taking out the Death Eaters was more of a priority than saving the houses; homes could be rebuilt, but people could not.

As Harry sent another Death Eater to the ground-the Stunning Spell hitting the man squarely in the chest–a hex flew at him from the side, slicing through his cheek. He hissed, one hand clapped against the stinging wound as he spun around to retaliate. 

Before he could, however, everyone seemed to stop fighting at once. A low murmu echoed around Aurors, Order members, and Death Eater alike. Harry didn’t need to see the speaker to recognise the heavy sense of power and threat that only one man could carry. 

He swallowed, a strange mixture of dread and anger tugging inside his chest as he turned. 

Voldemort stood as tall and skeletal as ever, skin as white as dull snow, and eyes as red as the face of the Devil; he remained both ethereal and terrifying, all at once. Harry frowned, not at Voldemort’s humanoid yet snake-like appearance, but at the white, rectangular box of shimmering magic Voldemort Levitated above his head. 

“He’s calling a ceasefire,” Hermione said in a hushed whisper as she clutched Harry’s arm; he hadn’t realised she was so close to him. “Nobody can fire an offensive spell when somebody’s called a ceasefire.”

“I wish to talk to the Minister of Magic,” Voldemort uttered, his voice nothing more than a low hiss that nonetheless carried across the crowd. “I have a _proposition_ for him to consider.”

Voldemort’s eyes flickered to Harry, his lipless mouth curling into a cruel smirk. Something devious lay behind the smirk, causing Harry to shiver. Harry was used to Voldemort looking at him with hatred and venom, but there was almost a _hunger_ in Voldemort’s gaze, as though he yearned to devour Harry alive. In the brief moment in which their eyes met, the chill of a helpless prey animal facing a master predator rooted him to the spot. Harry knew how to deal with Voldemort’s hatred, but he didn’t know how to deal with...however Voldemort was seeing him now.

An Auror Harry vaguely recognised as a man named Draven Foley stepped forwards. Harry had never liked Foley; something about the man made him uncomfortable, and the way he walked fearlessly towards Voldemort only made Harry more suspicious. 

Voldemort clasped Foley’s arm and they vanished at once. Those remaining looked around uneasily at each other, unsure whether they were supposed to continue fighting or not. 

Loud cracks began to sound as people Disapparated, evidently declaring the fight over, and soon only Harry and the other members of the Order remained, all of them thinking the same thing—what exactly was Voldemort planning?

**_XXX_ **

The minutes passed with excruciating slowness.

Harry sat on the torn, tattered sofa in Grimmauld Place, Ginny’s knee pressed closely against his as they awaited news of Voldemort’s ‘proposition’. Ron paced up and down the room, wearing holes into the carpet, while Hermione sat in an armchair, flicking through various tomes on wizarding law. 

“He called a ceasefire,” Ginny murmured, breaking the silence and startling Harry despite the softness of her voice. “Maybe he’s realised all this fighting is getting him nowhere.”

“This is Voldemort,” Harry retorted, and his three friends flinched at the name. “He tortures for the thrill, not for results.”

Ginny sighed. “I know. I just...I just don’t understand what he could be planning.”

Ron kicked a cabinet. “Why did it take us so long to look for his Horcruxes?” he said. “If we’d just got _on_ with it, he’d have never figured out we were hunting them down.”

“They still exist,” Hermione said, standing up and rubbing her hand over Ron’s back. “Yes, he may have moved them somewhere safer, but they’re still there to be destroyed.”

They fell silent as the fireplace roared to life in a burst of green flames. Moments later Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped through, looking far graver than Harry had ever seen him look before. He smiled sadly, his gaze focused on Harry.

“Harry,” Kingsley said, and the sorrowful tone of his voice had Harry’s skin prickling with tension. “ _He_ would like to speak with you.”

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, immediately leapt to Harry’s defence. 

“No way!”

“We’re coming with him!”

“What does he want from him?”

“I’m afraid I’ve been sworn to secrecy,” Kingsley said, ignoring Ron and Ginny’s comments. “I’m sorry to rush you, Harry, but he’s requested to speak to you alone and-”

“It’s fine,” Harry cut in, giving his friends a reassuring smile even though nausea bubbled inside of him, turning his throat sour. “Shall we go?”

Kingsley led Harry through the Floo to the Ministry, clutching his arm tightly as they strode through the marbled hallways. 

“I’m not going to run away,” Harry said, twisting his arm to try and loosen Kingsley’s tight grasp. 

“I wish you could,” Kingsley said, voice barely more than a whisper. 

The pain in Kingsley’s voice unnerved Harry. Kingsley was normally so composed and calm. For the first time, Harry felt truly afraid of what Voldemort had in mind for him.

They finally reached the meeting room, where Voldemort was sat at a large desk along with the Auror Draven Foley, the Minister of Magic, Pius Thicknesse, and Rabastan Lestrange, whose long red hair was still singed from the battle. 

“Hello, Harry,” Voldemort said pleasantly, as though they were old friends meeting for the first time in months. “Please, take a seat.”

Harry remained still, staring back at Voldemort with wide eyes.

“Do as you’re told, you brat!” Rabastan snarled. “Or are you not aware of just how lucky you are to be offered what the Dark Lord is willing to give?”

“There, there, Rabastan,” Voldemort said. “Harry is young and ignorant of Pureblood customs and manners. How old are you now, Harry?”

Harry raised his chin, glowering at Voldemort. “Does it matter?” 

The false pleasantries vanished. Voldemort's lips curled into a wicked smiled. “Twenty-one now, aren’t you? After all, it’s been twenty years since I murdered your parents.”

Harry trembled with rage. He grabbed a chair, which scraped across the floor as he yanked at it. He sat, digging his nails into the wooden desk. and he scraped the chair loudly across the floor as he pulled it away from the desk. He sat down on it and clutched the desk separating him from Voldemort so tightly that he was sure his nails would leave indents.

“What. Do. You. Want?”

Voldemort smiled again, and gestured for Thicknesse to slide a thick file of parchment towards him. 

“Well, Harry, I have devised a peace treaty,” Voldemort explained, voice still unnaturally soft. It made him sound like a demon trying to pose as a human, the pleasantness unable to match the devious, calculating look in the blood-red eyes. 

“I will stop attacking magical kind, and in return myself and my Death Eaters and I will receive complete amnesty. I have also requested a zone where we are exempt from the law of the Ministry.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, feeling like there was something big that Voldemort was missing out. He wouldn’t willingly give up his quest to eliminate Muggles and Muggle-borns unless he’d found something more interesting to catch his attention. 

“And why do you need me to know this?” Harry asked, blood turning to ice in his veins. 

Voldemort must want to kill him for the contract to take effect, and that was why Kingsley sounded so haunted. Harry didn’t want to die, but if it meant the rest of the Wizarding World would be left alone, he’d have to do it. He would die the same age as his brave, selfless parents had and-

“I wish to take you as my consort,” Voldemort said instead, and Harry felt the ice take over his entire body and brain, freezing him in place. Had head truly heard those words leave Voldemort’s mouth? ‘No. You’re disgusting! A monster! A-”

“If you disagree I shall withdraw my offer, and I shall never offer anything like it again. But if you wish to let thousands more die because of you-”

“But I can’t!” Harry struggled to breathe as his chest tightened. “You’re...and I’m...Why would you even want me as your consort?!”

“You’re powerful and beautiful.” Voldemort’s hungry gaze roved over Harry’s body. Harry struggled not to throw up all over the contract.

Foley spoke up. “I would implore you to sign. If you don’t, not only will countless more die, it will become common knowledge that you could have ended this war once and for all, but chose not to for selfish reasons. To become a spouse of a prominent man at the centre of Pureblood society is the dream of many.”

Harry angrily swiped his eyes with the back of his hands, refusing to cry despite the tears that threatened to fall. He glanced back at Kingsley, who had his eyes squeezed shut as though he, too, was stopping himself from sobbing. “But you’re _decades_ older than me; you _killed_ my parents, you’re a monster and-”

“But are you not also a monster if you’d rather let others die than inconvenience yourself?” Voldemort reasoned, and Harry knew he was right. 

Harry had known Voldemort had him cornered immediately. He couldn’t let other people die needlessly; they had lost too many innocent people already, and if this was the one chance for the war to end peacefully, Harry couldn’t turn it down. Otherwise, he’d be almost as bad as Voldemort himself.

Harry finally allowed the tears to fall as he picked up the black-feathered quill. “Where do I sign?”

**_XXX_ **

Harry stormed back into Grimmauld Place through the Floo, long having given up on holding back his furious tears. 

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all startled at Harry’s loud reappearance, looks of concern morphing into loathing as Rabastan and Foley followed him out of the fireplace. Three sets of wands were drawn on Rabastan, who simply cackled at the sight of them and flopped down onto one of the chairs, legs thrown over the arm in casual elegance. 

“You’re not allowed to attack Mr Lestrange, just like he is not allowed to attack any of you,” Foley explained, voice rising over the noise of Harry slamming his fist into one of the old paintings on the wall until the canvas snapped.

His eyes stung from crying, and his fist burned, his knuckles bruised and bloody, but the pain was a welcome relief from his mental anguish. Every time he thought about what was happening, he wanted to flee and leave everyone behind, but Harry couldn’t do that to them—besides, he had signed the contract. 

“What’s going on?” Hermione asked, wand still focused intently on a composed Rabastan despite Foley’s reassurance that he was no danger. “Harry, please, talk to me.”

“The war’s over,” Harry said with a snarl, dropping to his knees with more force than necessary and pulling various clothes and possessions into the trunk by the side of his makeshift bed. He supposed some of the clothes might be Ron’s, but he had no idea if he’d ever see Ron again, so perhaps stealing his clothes would come as a comfort to him.

“Your little friend has made a contract with the Dark Lord,” Rabastan said gleefully. “Both sides are going to stop fighting, and Harry has accepted a gracious offer that many would be thrilled to have.”

“Gracious offer?” Harry punched the side of his trunk so hard it made his fingers throb. “I’ve signed away my freedom.”

“Not much of a life you had, though, was it? Hiding away in this dank old place,” Rabastan retorted, crinkling his nose.

“Harry, what has he made you do?” Ginny asked.

“He’s not locking you away in Azkaban, is he?” Ron asked, crouching beside Harry and placing a gentle hand on his arm. 

Harry froze, pressing his palms tightly against his eyes as a fresh barrage of tears fell, and he shook his head frantically. 

“N-no. I have to...I have to-”

“Harry is going to be our Lord’s consort,” Rabastan announced with delight. “An honour, and though Harry would not be my choice, I will not question my Lord’s desires.”

Ron gasped. “He’s joking, right, Harry? He’s not really-?” 

“I had to,” Harry ground out. “I couldn’t have any more deaths on my conscience.”

“Harry, you don’t-” Hermione said in an attempt to reassure him, but Harry cut her off.

“I do, and I’ve signed the contract. It’s too late for me to change my mind.”

“Exactly,” Foley snapped. “Now, if you could hurry up? The Dark Lord _did_ tell you that he would provide everything you need.”

Harry ignored him, hands hovering over the photo album that Hagrid had given him. He didn’t want to think about how horrified his parents would be that Harry was in this position, and the nausea he had managed to fight away came bubbling back to the surface.

“Ginny,” he said softly, turning to her. The photo album shook in his trembling hands. “Can you look after this for me?”

“Of course,” Ginny replied, leaping forwards and pulling Harry into a tight hug.

“Oi!” Rabastan yelled. “That’s an engaged man right there!”

“Shut it!” Ron snarled, before he too drew Harry into an embrace. 

“We won’t stop searching,” Ron murmured in Harry’s ear. “We’ll get you out of there.”

He let Harry go, only for Hermione to immediately take his place.

“You know if anyone can find a loophole, it will be me,” Hermione said softly. “None of us are going to give up on you until you’re free.”

“I think that’s enough now,” Foley said. “The Dark Lord told us not be keep him waiting, and I’m not going to risk him taking back his offer to end the war over some sappy goodbyes.”

“Especially as we now have to waste time cleaning the stench of Mudblood off you,” Rabastan added, grinning as four sets of eyes turned to glare at him. “Oh, don’t be like that: I just want to make you a pretty bride, Harry. After all, they say your wedding day is the happiest day of your life.”

It would be the happiest day of his new life as Voldemort’s consort, Harry had to agree; things could only get worse from there.

**_XXX_ **

Harry reached a trembling hand towards the mirror, running his finger down the length of the face that didn’t belong to him. 

It looked like his face, of course, but the thick gold kohl around his eyes wasn’t his, and nor was the vertical golden stripe running down the centre of his lips. 

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had been tasked with preparing Harry for the wedding ceremony, and the three of them had stood in uncomfortable silence as Lucius dressed Harry in golden robes made of soft silk, and Narcissa twisted Harry’s hair into braids and piled them up on top of his head. 

All the gold made Harry feel like a trophy, and truly that was what he was; a prize to prove that Voldemort had won their personal battle. 

Harry eyes flickered shut as Lucius dipped a paintbrush in golden ink—more gold; he didn’t think he’d ever be able to look at the colour again without feeling ill—and proceeded to paint curving runes on his face, down onto his chest, and over his arms. The paintbrush swirled over his skin in dancing patterns. Lucius was following a parchment which seemed to be filled with detailed instructions, and though Harry had never known much about runes, he knew if the guide had come from Voldemort, they wouldn’t bode well for Harry. 

“You look beautiful,” Narcissa said gently once they were finished. “I’m sorry.”

Harry nodded, too choked up to speak. His heart felt like it was slowly shattering to pieces, and what did it matter if it broke anyway? He couldn’t give it away to anyone now, not now he was going to be married to a sadistic Dark Lord.

He silently followed a solemn Lucius and Narcissa to the ceremony room. There were various faces in the crowds, but Harry paid them no attention, focused only on the figure at the end of the aisle. 

Somehow, Voldemort seemed far more threatening and imposing without a wand in his hand. He was tall, almost impossibly so, his robes as black as obsidian, making his pale skin glow like snow. His red eyes fixed hungrily on Harry, and the dark look of pleasure in them made Harry stumble in his steps. 

He froze, feeling like all the air had been drawn from his lungs. He couldn’t breath, could barely see, the world went fuzzy until all Harry could focus on were those blood-red eyes drinking in his fear. 

There were innocent Muggles, witches, and wizards counting on him, but Harry wasn’t sure he could go through with this. He wasn’t sure he could tie his life to Voldemort’s. Lucius pushed at his back, and Harry tripped over the hem of his robes, falling to his knees. He heard the fabric tear, and gathered the tattered hem in his hands. 

“I have to fix it,” Harry murmured to nobody; to himself; to anybody who would listen and grant him more time. “I have to fix it.”

Narcissa crouched beside him. “It’s alright. Don’t worry, I’ll-”

“Out of the way, Cissy!” came an all too familiar, manic voice. “I’ve got him.”

Harry’s arm was grasped tightly and he was pulled roughly to his feet, gaze meeting the crazed eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange. 

“Silly little boy ruined his robes!” She cackled. “Let’s hope your new husband won’t mind too much.”

Despite trying to dig his heels into the floor, Bellatrix managed to drag him down the aisle, forcing him to his knees beside Voldemort. Harry kept his eyes on the marbled slabs, not wanting to look up and face the man he’d have to spend the rest of his life with. Fingers like spiders wove through his hair, tugging sharply and forcing him to look up. He hissed in pain, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Look at me,” Voldemort commanded, pulling Harry’s hair hard enough for his scalp to burn. “Be a good bride, now, Harry.”

Harry reluctantly obeyed, and his breath hitched. This close, he could see flecks of grey in the red irises, a lasting reminded of the man Voldemort once was before he split his soul and became less than human. But there was nothing human about Voldemort now; he was a freak of nature. 

“I hate you,” Harry said, not caring that his voice carried across the crowd. “And I’m always going to hate you. You disgust me.”

Voldemort smiled, bending down until his face was inches from Harry’s. His breath was icy cold, and smelt coppery, like rancid blood. 

“You can hate me all you wish, but I have exactly what I want, precious one,” Voldemort hissed. He returned to full height, snapping his fingers impatiently at the ordainer. “Commence the bonding spells.”

The man, a small, mousy looking thing, proceeded to weave a spell of silver light around Harry and Voldemort, encircling them. The painted runes on Harry’s skin began to tingle, and he squirmed as the tingling grew more and more painful. 

A final wave of the spell connected a thick stream of magic from Harry to Voldemort, bursting into both of them with such force that Harry slumped forwards as he felt an unnatural tug at his own magic inside him. 

“Excellent,” Voldemort declared. “Your services are no longer required, Birchill.”

Voldemort pointed his wand at the ordainer, and in a flash of bright green light the man crumpled lifeless to the floor. 

“No!” Harry cried, jumping to his feet only to be caught by Voldemort, who gripped his arms tightly. 

“We’re on my land, so I can do as I wish,” Voldemort said. “And as for you, my consort…”

Voldemort released one of his arms, placing his long, spidery fingers over Harry’s forehead instead. 

Harry yelped in pain, and would have fallen to the floor had Voldemort’s unnaturally strong arm not been holding him up. His blood felt like it was burning and bubbling beneath his skin, not a single inch of him without agony. 

He slumped forwards and Voldemort caught him easily, holding Harry against his chest. Harry felt too weak to pull away, his limbs like lead and his head fuzzy as the pain began to ebb away. He felt empty, too, like he was missing something, a part of him he wasn’t supposed to be without. 

His magic, he realised, blinking blearily at the sparks of red dancing around Voldemort’s fingertips. 

But he was too weak to fight, and after Voldemort had finished draining what he wanted from Harry, he scooped him up easily into his arms. 

“Thank you for witnessing, this _glorious_ bonding ceremony,” Voldemort announced to his followers. “Do as you wish with the body, and do not interrupt me until the morning; I intend to _enjoy_ some personal time with my new consort.”


End file.
